


Finding Truth In A Hope Of Doubt

by BigSciencyBrain



Series: Solace [5]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: I actually really adore Thor, Loki Needs a Hug, M/M, Nice mellow part so you can all recover from the badness of part 4, Protective Natasha, Steve Feels, Thor means well, Thor meddles because he cares, Turning the corner from dark to not so dark, art as therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-15
Updated: 2014-01-15
Packaged: 2018-01-08 19:30:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1136510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BigSciencyBrain/pseuds/BigSciencyBrain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve is stripped of command of the Avengers and suspended from SHIELD.  After hitting rock bottom, he starts to find his way back again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Finding Truth In A Hope Of Doubt

Silence is heavy.

That’s the thought that goes through Natasha’s mind as she watches the monitors along the wall.  Every screen is a different angle into the glass cell, but they all show the same thing; Steve curled into the fetal position on the floor.  She wishes Tony hadn’t been right about Steve not coming willingly; he’d only fought harder when he’d realized where they were taking him.  Now there were a dozen SHIELD agents in the hospital and whispers in the hallways -

_Where were you the day Captain America went crazy?_

“Has he said anything?”  Fury looks tired.  He looks worried.

Bruce clears his throat, still uncomfortable with his seat at the Helicarrier Round Table.  “Not much.” 

“And the sedative?”

“It only lasted a couple hours, but it’s the best we’ve got.  I think I can up the dosage without putting him in danger.  If…if we need to keep him sedated longer than that.”  Bruce looks down at his hands, visibly unhappy.  “When I injected him this morning, he asked me if he could…”

“Doctor Banner?”

“He asked to be buried next to his mother.  He thinks we’re going to turn him into a lab rat.  Keep trying to replicate the serum, drain him dry.  Because he thinks the only valuable thing about him is what Erskine made him.  And if he can’t be Captain America, then he’s no use to SHIELD.”

The silence gets heavier.

Finally, Tony pivots away from the monitors.  “What happened?  This is a full out mental breakdown.”

Fury sits down wearily.  “I’ve got a team going through everything in that warehouse with a fine tooth comb.  If there’s anything to be found, they’ll find it.” 

Tony drops a plain envelope on the table.  “I took pictures of what he did to his room.  See for yourselves.”  He turns the envelope on end; slick, glossy photographs slide out onto the table and scatter.

Natasha catches one of the photos.  She remembers the murals well enough, but she forces herself to look anyway.  It’s hard, she admits to no one but herself, hard to see Steve – who has always been the rock they all clung to – falling to pieces before their very eyes.  She tries not to think about image of him hanging by his wrists, blood drying on his skin and a pool of it below him, but she knows she’ll never forget it.  Beside her, Clint is staring off into a corner rather than see Steve like this.  Even Thor is unusually serious.

“I’m bringing in the best doctors SHIELD has.”  Fury turns his gaze back to the monitors. 

There’s a picture of Red Skull in front of her.  She wonders why Steve painted his old enemy over his bed.  It’s no wonder he didn’t want to sleep there, with that face staring down at him. 

The photographs slowly circulate around the table, each of them trying to see and understand what message Steve might have hidden in the paint.  They’re quiet, lost in thought.  She holds the image of Winter Soldier for a long time, wondering.  Had that been when it all started?

“These markings.”  Thor trails his fingertips over one of the images.  It’s the image of Shadowfax.  “It has been a long time since I have seen a Frost Giant.”

“Is that what he is?”  Tony leans forward, curious as always.  “He’s not exactly giant.”

Thor’s expression darkens as he stares at the image, one hand still tracing the lines of the black wings.  “I do not know how.  But I know who this must be.”  He looks up and there is nothing friendly in his face. 

Tony rolls his hands in a gesture that says _hurry up and tell us_.  “And?”

Thor is already striding toward the stairs.  “I will have words with Captain Rogers.”

All of them clamor to leave their seats but Fury stops them with a shout.  “Sit down!”  He motions to the monitors on the wall.  “Maybe soldier to soldier is just what Rogers needs.”  He nods to Agent Hill and she activates the audio inside the cell.

**

Steve hears footsteps and knows immediately who it must be – who it _has_ to be.  He’s been waiting for this moment, dreading it.  He’s on his feet by the time the door opens and Thor is standing before him, fists clenched at his sides.  He looks ready to start swinging.

“I saw him the day they found you,” Thor begins, his voice hard.  “I asked for his help in finding the monster who tortured you.  His reactions have puzzled me, but I think I am beginning to understand.”

Steve feels his stomach sink and he backs away.  “I didn’t…I never said that I was tortured.”

Thor takes a single, measured step forward.  “Perhaps I have not known of all of his lovers, but I have known most.  Not once have I known him to raise his hand against a lover with the intent to do physical harm.  For him to do such a thing is troubling.  Tell me why.”

“Thor.”   Steve’s voice breaks and vanishes. 

“The only reason I can think that he would abuse a lover is if they desired it.  Nor would he be easily convinced to comply in such acts.”

Steve looks away.  He doesn’t remember Loki not being willing to hurt him but, as he considers Thor’s words, he wonders if he simply wasn’t paying attention.  “I wanted it.  Is that what you want to hear?  I wanted it.  I begged for it, for him to…to…you don’t understand--”

Thor cuts him off, his voice booming in the enclosed space.  “At what cost?  For you to satisfy your desires, he became a monster.”

His throat goes dry, cutting off his words.  _I’m the monster, not Loki_ , he answers silently.

“You did not see his pain when I told him SHIELD had found you.  My words that day…if I had known the truth, I would not have said such things to him.”

If Thor intends to kill him, he has no desire to fight back.  He just wants it to be over.

“I am not here to harm you, Steven.”  He comes close enough to clap his hand on Steve’s shoulder.  He grips a little too hard.  “I am glad that Mother did not live to see what he has become, because of you.  No doubt you are just as glad that your Mother is not alive to see what you’ve become.”

Steve can’t breathe.

“Did you ever care for him?” Thor asks.  He sounds calm, but his grip on Steve’s shoulder is almost crippling.

Steve wants to ask for forgiveness, to plead for it, but he already knows what Thor’s answer will be. 

“I thought you a good man once, Captain Rogers.”

Thor turns to leave and Steve crumples to the ground, gasping for breath.  He kneels, curling in on himself and rocking back and forth; the pain inside is unbearable.  Images of Loki and Bucky and Peggy and everyone else he’s failed whirl through his mind in perfect clarity. 

It’s only when a SHIELD tactical team fills the cell and Bruce sticks another needle in his arm that Steve realizes he’s screaming.

**

“What the hell was that about?” Fury demands when Thor returns. 

On the monitors behind him, Steve is thrashing wildly, throwing SHIELD agents away from him as they struggle to hold him down long enough for Bruce to sedate him.  The audio has been muted again, but they can all see that he’s screaming.

Thor clenches his fists, looking away from the monitors.  “I’m afraid that I have not been completely honest with you, my friends.  I hope you will forgive me.”

Natasha watches Clint out of the corner of her eye.

“I told you that Loki was no longer a threat to your Realm,” Thor continues.  “I let you believe that it was because he had perished.  But he is very much alive.  I thought, with time, that I could convince him to join us.  I feared that if SHIELD knew he still lived and remained in your world, you would seek him out and my chance would be lost.  I do not know how, but I know that the creature you call Shadowfax and my brother are one and the same.”  He turns to the monitors, watching as Steve finally succumbs to the sedative.  “Though it pains me to think my brother capable of such cruelty.”

Clint pushes away from the table and turns his back to the screens.   “I knew it.  I knew it was him.”  He lashes out, kicking one of the chairs and sending it skidding across the floor. 

Natasha stays still in her seat.  She tries to reconcile the image of Steve – bound and bleeding – with the knowledge that it was consensual.  It makes as much sense as having to keep Captain America sedated and locked up in a prison cell.  Tony looks stricken, his knuckles pressed against his lips and his eyes glued to the monitors. 

Maybe none of the others have walked the fine line between pain and pleasure often enough to know how easily it blurs.

On the monitors, Bruce is checking Steve’s pulse.  In her gut, she doesn’t think it’s that simple.  It wasn’t whips and chains and good fun.  If that’s all it had been, she doesn’t think Steve wouldn’t have come undone when Thor confronted him.

 _This is something much worse_ , she thinks.

Natasha sees that Fury is watching her.  She nods in wordless agreement on a course of action.  “I’ll take the first shift.  One of us should be there when he wakes up.”

“Ask Banner to stick around.”  Fury’s expression turns grim.  “Effectively immediately, Steven Rogers is removed of command of the Avengers and put on indefinite leave from all SHIELD actions.  I’ll pick the watch team myself.”

“Watch team?” Tony asks.  A moment later, understanding dawns and he slumps in his chair.  “I’ll take the shift after Natasha.”

Natasha  keeps her thoughts to herself as she takes the long route to the glass cage.  So many little pieces now seem important.  The rash of injuries before Shadowfax – _Loki_ – had intervened that night; she’d chalked it up to bad luck.  It had gotten better, for awhile.  He stayed out of the hospital; he seemed less aloof and had started to going to Freetown, which was as social as Steve ever got.  But it hadn’t gotten better; he’d just gotten better at hiding the truth.

Maybe they’d gotten better at not seeing it.

When she reaches the cage, it is empty of all but Steve.  She wants to reassure him, to tell him that she’s _here._   Placing one hand against the glass, she watches the steady rise and fall of his chest and tells herself that as long as he’s alive, there’s a chance.  She doesn’t believe in the word _hope_ , but she believes that anyone can beat their demons if they fight hard enough. 

Bruce looks pale and shaken, his black medicine bag clutched tight in his hand.  “I don’t know if there’s anything else I can do.”

“We just have to be here,” she tells him.  “He’ll get through this.”

He checks his watch nervously.  “I don’t think…I don’t think he should be alone.”

She settles down near the door, watching Steve breathe.  “I’ll be here.”

**

The diagnosis is little more than jumbled words to Steve.

Severe depression, post-traumatic stress, anxiety disorder; the words continue until there are pages and pages detailing everything that’s wrong with him.  They ask him questions over and over again.  They try to pull explanations out of him.  How does he feel?  Why did he seek out pain and brutality?  He flinches every time they say those words; it doesn’t seem real.  They want him to describe everything he wanted Loki to do to him.  He doesn’t have answers; too tired and too empty to talk about anything. 

The shame and disgust churning in his stomach makes him sick.  But there’s nowhere to hide now; no dark corner he can slip into and pretend that it isn’t real.  They’d seen the truth of him back in the warehouse. 

Now that they know, now they’ve seen how broken he is and how much he _belongs_ in this cell, his life is over.  _Captain America is dead_ , he thinks.  He’s been dead for more than seventy years; he went into the ice and never came out. 

They never leave him alone; all of his privacy has been stripped away, leaving him exposed and vulnerable.   He’s surrounded by men carrying tranquilizer guns.  They watch him as though he’s a ticking time bomb. 

Natasha brings him sketchbooks and pencils, but he doesn’t touch them.  He sees her more than the others, sitting outside the glass cell and watching him. 

Bruce brings him books to read.

Clint brings movies and a portable DVD player.  He doesn’t talk and he never looks directly at Steve.

When Tony comes, he brings parts from his latest projects and tinkers like a kid sitting on the floor with a constructor set.  He talks to himself, to his creations, and occasionally to Steve.  He never expects a conversation and he never asks Steve _why_.

The only one who hasn’t come to visit his cell is Thor.

Steve doesn’t ask if Thor is still on Earth.  He can’t ask anyone if Thor has lost contact with Loki; he hopes that he hasn’t.  He hopes that Loki has changed his mind and sought Thor out.  Maybe then he could believe that something good had come of his mistakes.

Natasha is the first person to convince him to leave the cell for anything other than the bathroom.  She leads him through the hallways and out onto the deck.

The sun is bright and the smell of the ocean, heavy with salt spray, hits in him full in the face when he steps out.  A large area of the deck has been cleared.  There is nothing to see but open ocean for miles in every direction.  The sun feels good on his skin; he focuses on that.  That’s what the therapists keep telling him; focus on small, good things.  No doubt SHIELD will pull him out of the ocean if he jumps from the edge; his blood is still too valuable to lose.  He tips his face up into the sunshine and closes his eyes.  Wind on his face makes him think of Loki.  He misses the exhilaration and freedom of flying, his arms wrapped tight around Loki’s shoulders. 

That’s where it had truly started.  In the moments when there was nothing but sky and Loki and he had to put his life in Loki’s hands; until it seemed that the only person he could trust was Loki. 

 _No_ , he thinks slowly, his thoughts sluggish and tired.

He’d chosen to trust Loki; he’d chosen to stop trusting his team.  Because Loki had seen through the costume he wore when the others hadn’t.  At least, that’s what he’d thought.  He thinks about how Natasha is almost always there when he wakes up in the cell.  He thinks about the tiny robots that wreak havoc inside his cell while Tony howls with laughter.  He thinks about how Natasha confronted Loki that night on the cargo ship and about Clint’s arrow aimed at Loki’s throat.  It had seemed unfair at the time – Loki had been helping them – but now he wonders if it wasn’t distrust that had motivated them, but concern.  Their instincts had told them something was wrong and they’d listened; he hadn’t.

He doesn’t know how long he stands there before Natasha comes to take him back to his cell.  He follows without seeing, trusting her to take him where he needs to go.

“Natasha,” he says once they’re inside the cell.

“Yes?”  Her expression is so careful, her voice perfectly neutral.

He motions to the neatly stacked pile of sketchbooks.  “Thank you.” 

A hint of a smile ghosts across her lips.  “You’re welcome.”

When she’s gone again, he sits down on his bedroll.  After several minutes, he reaches for a sketchbook and a pencil.  He stares at a blank page for a long time before he tentatively touches his pencil to the surface and begins to draw.  Whether the image is from his memory or his dreams, he doesn’t know.  Bit by bit, it comes into focus on the page.  It’s Loki lying on his side with an open book beside him and a wide smile on his face. 

Steve takes extra care on the wings; he wants everyone to see how beautiful they are.

Beautiful, damaged, lost Loki who had no home to go to and couldn’t bring himself to trust anyone enough to show his face.  Except for Steve.  He thinks about the first night at the Tower, when Loki had dropped his mask and stood before him wearing a _Captain America_ t-shirt.  It hadn’t seemed important at the time, the shirts were sold on every street corner, but now Steve wonders why Loki had chosen it.

Once he’s started drawing, he can’t seem to stop.  At midnight, Natasha brings him tea and a fresh box of pencils.

By morning, he’s filled the entire sketchbook.  There are pictures of Loki in jeans and the _Captain America_ t-shirt, wearing an apron and cooking dinner, sitting with a glass of wine in his hand, and dancing at Freetown.  He fills a dozen pages with Loki dancing; his wings open and magnificent.

The last two sketches come purely from his imagination and they’re the only images with both him and Loki.  One is him broken and bruised after his battle with the Abomination, with Loki curled protectively around him.  The second is what he remembers, what he imagines, from the last time he saw Loki.  It’s an image of Loki cradling him - _a pieta_ \- his chest and arms dark with Steve’s blood.  In large, block letters, he writes Thor’s name on the cover of the sketchbook and sets it aside.

He sleeps for a few hours, eats the meals they bring him and takes the medication the doctors have prescribed. 

On the next sketchbook, he writes _Natasha._   It takes him another day and night to fill that book.

The first sketch is of her leaning against the door of the cell, one hand pressed against it as though she could comfort him through the glass.  The last sketch is pure imagination.  He draws her barefoot with a bright smile, a wide brimmed straw hat, and a floral cotton dress that just reaches her knees.  She looks younger, perhaps a carefree girl of sixteen, and still innocent of all the darkness in the world.  That had never been Natasha, but that’s the point.  He wants to give her something she’d been denied.

After he’s slept for a few hours, eaten, and taken his medication, he starts on the next book.

When he has a book for all of the Avengers, and Agent Coulson, he lays them out neatly along one curving section of the cell.  There is one sketchbook left.  He thinks long and hard before he pulls out a fresh pencil and picks up the last book.

On the cover he writes _Loki._

If Thor was right and Loki had never wanted to cause Steve pain, then he doesn’t understand.  He doesn’t know why Loki would be willing to do something he didn’t want to do, but he doesn’t believe it was love.  Loki knows exactly how weak and how _wrong_ Steve is; how could he have loved him?  There had been times when it had been different, when Loki had been gentle, almost _loving_. 

Those times had terrified Steve far more than any pain.  Pain, he knows; physical pain is an old friend.  He’s never known love; doesn’t know how to love, doesn’t know how to be loved. 

He draws what he thinks they might have had, if Loki could have loved him. 

**

“How’s the patient?” Fury asks.

Natasha doesn’t look away from her tablet.  “There’s progress.”

“Good.”  Fury sounds as though she’s just told him the world wasn’t going to end.

“He’s been taking his medications, eating, sleeping.  He’s answering questions during therapy sessions now.  Although, the therapists might need therapy after this.”  She shivers a little.  Once Steve had started talking, the psychologists started leaving the sessions looking pale.  “And he’s drawing.”

Fury looks at her sideways.  “That’s progress?”

“Art is better than therapy for Steve.”

“I’ve seen what he did to the walls at Stark Tower.”

“This is different.” 

Leaning forward, Fury watches the image of Steve sketching for several minutes.  “Any idea what’s really going on inside his head?”

Natasha hesitates.  “Sir.”

“You can speak freely, Romanov.”

“I think this was a long time coming, maybe even from before the ice.  I should’ve seen the signs, gotten to him sooner.”

“This isn’t your fault, Agent Romanov.”

She appreciates the words even if she doesn’t believe them.  It was her job to monitor the Avengers and she’d failed.  “Not unexpected for what he’s been through.  We just didn’t catch it soon enough to keep him from turning it all inward and becoming self-destructive.”

“And the relationship with Loki?  Is that going to be a problem?”

Setting the tablet on the table, she turns to meet Fury’s gaze.  “I don’t think it was about sex.”

“What do you think it _was_ about?”

She glances back at the tablet.  It’s become habit to check on Steve, as though she could keep him from sliding back into darkness through her will alone.  “I don’t think Steve wanted Loki to hurt him because he gets off on pain.  I think he doesn’t know how to feel anything else.  He turned to Loki because he couldn’t come to any of us.  He thinks that he’s weak, that he’s broken, and he didn’t want any of us to see him that way.”

“Will it be a problem?” Fury asks again.

There’s a sketchbook with Loki’s name on it, but she doesn’t know what’s inside or what it means.  “I don’t think Loki will come looking for Steve.”

He raises an eyebrow.  “But?”

“I think Steve will go looking for Loki.”  That’s the worry that keeps her up at night.

**

After three months of constant surveillance, Steve is moved from the glass cell to crew’s quarters.  There are cameras in the corners, but the solid walls give him a semblance of privacy.  His days are carefully regulated.  Three meals a day, two hours of therapy every day; he joins the crew for physical training every morning and pretends not to notice the stares.  In his free time, he stays in his quarters.  He reads the books Bruce brings him and fills more sketchbooks.  The others still visit him. 

He’s no longer surrounded by SHIELD guards waiting for him to kill himself.

Returning from lunch one day, he finds Clint waiting for him.  Early afternoon is when Clint usually has a couple hours to spare and he’s been trying to get Steve into his new favorite television show.  When he sees that Clint has picked out the sketchbook meant for him, he settles down on the bed and doesn’t say anything.

Clint slowly goes through each page, his expression giving away nothing.  At his feet is a six-pack of beer and the portable DVD player he always brings.

Steve waits.  He knows what’s in the sketchbook, but he doesn’t know how Clint will react.

“I want to hit you,” Clint says finally, still leafing through the pages.  “I’ve never wanted to punch someone so much in my entire life.  But you’d probably enjoy it.”

Steve doesn’t say anything.

“You fucked Loki.  For months.  You let him do things to you that make me want to puke.”  Clint takes a deep breath, still not looking up.  “Because you wanted him to hurt you.”

It’s Steve’s turn to look away.  “I did.”

“I’m surprised he didn’t kill you.” 

“I wanted him to.”

Clint looks up then.  “What about us, Steve?  We’re your friends.  We’re your team.  Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

“Would you have been willing to kill me if I’d asked you to?”  Steve watches Clint’s hands go still on the pages.

“Hell no.”

It’s a bitter smile that Steve gives him.  It had taken him a long time to accept that he’d collapsed under the weight of being Captain America; that he’d gone to Loki because he’d wanted his life to end and couldn’t do it himself.  “I thought if anyone could do it, if anyone would _want_ to…it would’ve been him.”

Clint closes the sketchbook.  “We found you before he could.” 

“He refused.”  Steve leans back against wall.  He tries not to think about the fury in Loki’s eyes when he’d realized what Steve _truly_ wanted. 

Much of that day is fuzzy from being sedated, but the parts that are clear haunt his nightmares.  The bindings on his wrists had vanished moments after the SHIELD assault team – and Iron Man – blasted the double doors off their hinges.  Seconds, only a few seconds; it was long enough for them all to get a good look at him hanging, naked and bleeding.  They came to rescue him, only to find out later that he’d wanted it all along.  He’d betrayed them and, worse, he’d betrayed _Captain America_.

“You’re supposed to be one of the good guys,” Clint says, frustrated.  He doesn’t understand, but Steve can’t blame him for that.

“I get to spend every day of my life fighting.  Killing.  All I get to know is pain.  Everyone I love dies.  And the only reward I get in the end is death.  That’s what being Captain America means.”

Clint’s grip on the sketchbook tightens.  “Life’s a bitch.  I get that.  But that asshole took over my brain and forced me to kill people.  And you fucked him.”

Steve turns his head slowly, meeting Clint’s gaze with a challenge.  “He’s not here.  If you want to take it out on me, I won’t stop you.”

The muscles in Clint’s jaw tighten.  He stands up and drops the sketchbook to the floor.  “You’re sick,” he says as he leaves.

Steve drinks the beer and wishes it was wine.

He shouldn’t have baited Clint that way; he knows that.  Restless, he hunts for a sketchbook with empty pages.  It’s the only thing that seems to take the edge off.  The dark _thing_ inside him writhes as he works. 

He knows it has a name now.  More than one. 

It’s depression; it’s fear; it’s anxiety; it’s guilt; it’s shame.  It’s everything he pretends doesn’t matter, everything he’s denied himself, and everything he pretends not to feel, all come together into one monster and trying to claw its way out into the light.  So he draws.  He pulls it apart, bit by bit, and pins it down against the page where he can face it.

He draws Captain America lying in a coffin and Steve Rogers, small and sickly, standing beside the open grave.

He draws until a SHIELD agent comes to take him to dinner.  It feels almost comfortable to stand in line in the mess hall, a tray in his hands, and pretend he’s just like everyone else.  He sits alone, no one ever approaches him, but he’s used to it.  He focuses on his food, chewing slowly and taking his time.  Every now and then, he glances up briefly to catch the eye of someone who’s watching him.  He always tries to smile and sometimes they smile back. 

Whispers spread through the room like fire.  When Steve glances up, he sees Director Fury walking toward him. 

“Captain Rogers,” Fury says as he sits down across the table.

“It’s just Rogers, sir.”  Steve scoops up a spoonful of creamed corn and continues to eat.

The look Fury gives him is cautious, but calculating.  “I’ve got a mission for you.”

“I’m not Captain America anymore.”

“Then you don’t get to tell me no.  When I say jump, you say how high.”  Fury pulls a folded piece of paper out of his coat pocket and slides it across the table.  “You’ll be there in one hour.  It’s not a request.  An agent will escort you.”

Steve swallows, reaching for the piece of paper.  He doesn’t ask what it’s for, just nods and sticks the paper in his back pocket as Fury leaves.  After dinner, he showers hurriedly and gets ready.  It’s the first time in months that he’s been allowed to leave the helicarrier.  There are butterflies in his stomach as he waits, watching the time tick by on the clock.

The knock on his door is the SHIELD agent sent to escort him.  It’s a woman with dark hair that Steve hasn’t met before, though that means little enough with the size of the crew needed to keep the helicarrier operational.

He follows, hands in his jacket pockets, and doesn’t ask where they’re going or why.  The old fear begins to creep in again, that SHIELD no longer has any use for him and he’s being led toward the inevitable.  His heart pounds as he steps off the helicarrier; it feels as though he’s out of the ice all over again and there’s an enormous, frantic world ahead of him.  There’s a taxi waiting.  He climbs in after the SHIELD agent and fumbles in his pocket for the slip of paper before handing it to the driver.

The agent doesn’t speak and her expression never changes.

Their destination is a plain building in an older neighborhood; it’s been worn by time and use.  He starts for the double doors, his nervousness returning.  He doesn’t have his shield or a weapon and the SHIELD agent with him isn’t armed either.

Inside, she motions toward an open door to the right.

He starts toward the door, palms sweating, and steps into what looks like a small classroom.  There’s a ring of metal folding chairs in the center of the room.  The men occupying the chairs are varied.  Some are old, some quite young.  He sees prosthetic limbs, missing arms and legs, among them.  An older gentleman motions for him to come forward.  He glances back but the SHIELD agent hasn’t followed him into the room.  Her back is toward the door, as though she’s standing guard while he’s here.

“Welcome.  Please take a seat,” the older man shakes his hand and gestures toward an empty chair.  “I’m Lewis, but you can call me Lew.”

“Thanks,” Steve says as he sits down.

Lew returns to his seat.  “Let’s get started then.  Adam, let’s start with you.  Since we’ve got some new faces, why don’t you introduce yourself?”

The man named Adam is middle aged and heavy set, with short brown hair.  “My name is Adam.  I’ve been coming here for about a year.  I’ve kept a job for six months now and I think I’ll get to see my kids for Christmas.”

Steve frowns as they continue around the room, trying to determine why Fury sent him.  They’re all soldiers, he realizes.  He hears stories of roadside bombs, lost limbs, and physical therapy, of drug addiction, broken marriages and broken homes, of suicide attempts and struggling to find a normal life once they’d come back from war.  As it gets closer and closer to his turn to speak, he finds himself fighting not to get up and run from the room.

Lew is looking at him expectantly.

“My name is Steve,” he says hoarsely.  He looks down at his hands rather than face any of them.

“Welcome to the group.  Why don’t you tell us a little about yourself?”

He clears his throat.  “I grew up in Brooklyn.  It was a lot different then.  I, uh, I fought in the War.”  He stops, unable to keep from laughing.  “I guess I need to be more specific.  I fought in World War Two.  Crash landed a plane in the Arctic.  I was frozen for seventy years.  Suspended animation, I guess that’s what it’s called.  Since then, since they found me, it feels like the war never ended.”  There is nothing but silence for several minutes.  He’d expected disbelief, maybe even derision.

“And what happened to bring you here, Steve?” Lew prompts.

“I couldn’t handle it.”  Steve rakes his fingers through his hair.  “Watching people get hurt.  Watching people die.  My job is…was…to fight the monsters other people can’t.  But innocent people still get hurt and I couldn’t, I can’t stop it.”  He takes a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves.  “I wanted it to be over.  I wanted the pain to stop.  And…and I made some bad choices.  I hurt people who care about me, I pushed away my friends.  I didn’t want to be Captain America anymore.  It was too much, too hard.”  His hands tremble; he balls them into fists against his thighs.

“Take your time,” Lew tells him.

He’s terrified of what he’ll see in the faces around him.  How many of them will be disappointed?  He is supposed to be a hero, supposed to inspire people, but he’s still human and fallible.  Finally, he looks up.  To his surprise, there is no judgment, no disappointment, in their faces.  He leans back in the chair, humbled.  It feels as though a weight has been suddenly lifted off of his shoulders.  Laughing, he rubs his hand over his face. 

“I wish I’d come here sooner,” he says and he means it.

 Several of the men chuckle; they wish they’d found the group sooner as well.

The conversation turns to getting through the day; many of them offer tips and suggestions.  Steve wishes he’d brought a notebook to write down all of their ideas.  They talk about routine and medication and therapy.  They talk about how they get up in the morning and put one foot in front of the other until they know they’re going to make it.  For many of them, it’s friends and family, the desire to hold their children again, that keeps them motivated.

An hour passes in minutes and the meeting is over too soon.  Steve shakes hands and promises Lew that he’ll be back the next week.

The SHIELD agent is waiting for him when he leaves the classroom.  Lew gives her a broad smile and a warm hug.  “It’s good to see you, Melinda.  How long are you in New York?”

“A few days,” she answers.  It’s the first time Steve has heard her speak.

The same taxi is waiting for them.  Steve climbs into the backseat after the SHIELD agent and settles against the worn leather.  “Thank you for bringing me.”  He thinks he sees a hint of a smile on her stern face.

She reaches into her jacket and pulls out a disk.  “Agent Coulson asked me to give this to you.”

“Coulson?”  Steve takes the disk.  “How is he?”

“He’s Coulson.”

“I have something for him.  If you could…if you’ll see him again.”  He’s thinking about the sketchbook in his quarters.  “It’s back on the helicarrier.”

She nods, saying nothing.

His steps feel lighter when they return to the helicarrier.  He feels lighter.  Back in his quarters, he finds the sketchbook with Coulson’s name and holds it out.  “It’s nothing special.  Mostly pictures of old cars and New York City seventy years ago.  But maybe…maybe he’ll get something out of it.”

She accepts the sketchbook and turns to go.

“Wait, agent…?” he trails off, unsure.

“Agent May,” she finishes for him.

“Thank you, Agent May.”

Alone in his quarters, he slides the disk into the portable DVD player that Clint had left behind.  After a few moments, Coulson’s face appears on the small screen.  He looks older than Steve remembers.

“Captain Rogers,” Coulson begins.  “I apologize for not being there in person.  I’ve got my own team now and they need me.  It may not be the big leagues, but we’re fighting the good fight.  I think you’d like them.  They’re good people; they have good hearts.”  He pauses, his gaze never wavering.  “I can’t imagine what it would be like to wake up in a world where everything you know is gone and you’re a legend.  What kind of pressure that must be.  To live up to expectations.  To save the world.  You barely had time to adjust before we asked you to lead a team against an enemy unlike anything we could imagine.  I’m not going to tell you that I know what that feels like.  But I know what it’s like to be alone, how lonely it is to put the job first and accept everything that comes with that.” 

He’s quiet for a moment, as though lost in his own thoughts.  “And I know what it’s like to lose the will to live, to want more than anything to let go and never feel anything again.  Sometimes living hurts, it hurts more than we think we can bear.  But I’ve been dead, Captain Rogers and, believe me, no matter how much it hurts, alive is better.  Trust your team.  They’re your family now.”  A small smile appears on his lips.  The image of Coulson stays on the screen for a few moments before it goes black.

Steve watches the video several more times before he sets the DVD player aside.  He leaves his room, venturing out into the halls.  The helicarrier is quieter at night and he sees fewer people.  He’s grown so used to being followed by guards and agents that he doesn’t think of it until he reaches one of the outer doors.

“Captain Rogers,” the man says.  He has one hand on the tranquilizer gun at his hip.

“I just want some fresh air, that’s all.”  Steve stays still.  He knows that the soldier is listening to commands given through his earpiece; there’s nothing he can do but wait.

Finally, the guard nods.  “You’re cleared to go outside, sir.”

Steve nods his thanks.  It’s night and the air is cool, almost sharp with the smell of the ocean.  He finds a relatively open space near the edge of the deck and sits down, his arms around his knees.  Above him, a few stars manage to peek through the blazing light of the city.  It feels familiar; he’s spent hours watching the night sky for Loki.

The ache in his chest isn’t new, but it feels different now than it did before.  He hadn’t meant for what he had with Loki to go the way it did, but he hadn’t been able to stop it either.

Soft footsteps catch his ear, the sound of someone approaching.  He doesn’t turn around, choosing to wait for them to make themselves known.  No doubt, Fury has half a dozen people on the deck to watch him and make sure he doesn’t jump off the edge.  But there’s really only one person it can be.  The footsteps stop at his side.

“Hey there,” Natasha says softly.

“Hey.”

“Nice night out.”

“It is.” 

They sit in silence for a long time.  Steve watches the light catch on the tops of waves.  Other ships move through the darkness, their strange lights making them look almost alien. 

“How are you doing?” she asks.

He doesn’t have an answer, but turns to look at her anyway.  She’s sitting cross legged bedside him, her face toward the city and the wind tugging at her hair.  He thinks about everything he knows about Natasha and everything that he doesn’t.  In a lot of ways, her strength and her grace, she reminds him of Peggy and he loves her for that.

“Have you ever gotten in over your head, Natasha?” he asks.

The corner of her mouth turns up.  “I joined the Avengers.  That’s about as over your head as it gets.”

“I mean…I meant,” he has to stop and take a deep breath.  “I mean sex.”

“There’s no easy answer to that.  I was trained to use sex to manipulate people.”

“Is it always complicated?”

“Maybe.  I don’t think it has to be.”  She turns to face him, her eyes watchful.  “It takes a lot of communication and a lot of trust.  When it’s real.”

He looks up at the sky again.  “I didn’t know what I was doing.  Didn’t know what I wanted.  And I never stopped to think about it…about what I was doing.  I just knew that when I was with him, I wasn’t Captain America anymore.  I could forget everything else.  Once the pain started, I couldn’t stop.  It never felt like enough, I kept pushing him for more and I didn’t know why I wanted it so much.  Not until it was too late.  He realized before I did.”  He lets his thoughts wander without trying to control where his mind goes.  “He told me, that day.”

When he doesn’t continue, she touches his shoulder gently.  “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

He hesitates.  There is no relief in honesty, no lessening of the relentless shame over what he’s done.  But they’re his team and they deserve the truth.  From now on, he owes them the truth.

“I am not a weapon for you to use to kill yourself.  That’s what he said.”  He takes a deep breath, inhaling the crisp night air as though it would help ease the painful knot in his chest.  Loki didn't trust anyone, but he'd let Steve in and Steve had twisted that trust against him like a knife.  “I never thought about what he wanted, not really.  I should’ve.  I should’ve been paying attention, should’ve realized that wasn’t what he wanted.  That he didn’t really want to hurt me.”  

“What did he want?” she asks carefully.

“He didn’t love me, if that’s what you’re asking.  I think he just didn’t want to be alone.  Sometimes, it seemed like he was becoming more and more like a bird every day, forgetting how to be a person.”

“Did you love him?”

Looking down at the deck between his feet, he tries to think through the complicated mess of emotions inside him.  “Maybe if things had been different.  I think I could have loved him.  I know that part of me misses him.  I miss flying; I miss the sound of his voice.  I miss his cooking, actually.  And I miss his wings.  I can’t really explain that part.  They’re such a part of him now that I can barely remember him without them.”

For the first time, he wonders what SHIELD did with Loki’s books and everything in the warehouse.  He thinks about that for a long time but doesn’t feel comfortable asking about it.

“Will you ever be able to trust me again?” he asks instead.  “I mean, the Avengers.”

“People in pain don’t make good choices, Steve.  No one’s immune to that and none of us are in any position to judge you.”  She’s quiet for a long moment.  “It’ll take a lot of work to trust each other again, but it’s not like we have a lot of options to choose from.  Can you imagine Tony being in charge?”

Chuckling, he shakes his head.  “At least Pepper isn’t a Norse God who tried to take over the world.”

“You haven’t seen the file of who Tony dated before her.  Pepper’s the exception, not the rule.”

They sit in silence for awhile, listening to the ocean and sounds of the city.  It feels almost comfortable now.  Finally, he turns toward her and answers her first question.  “I think I’m gonna be okay.”

**

It’s another three months before SHIELD allows Steve to return to Stark Tower.

The walls are blank, all of his paintings removed as though they’d never been there.  He decides that he likes it.  It’s a clean slate.  He leaves the sketchbooks marked _Tony_ and _Bruce_ in the lab on the day he moves in. 

He goes to therapy every day and meets the VA support group once a week. 

He’s still suspended from SHIELD activities and he hates sitting at home, unable to do anything but watch the news footage while the rest of the Avengers fight.  More often than not, it’s him and Pepper sitting on the couch and he doesn’t know how she’s done it for as long as she and Tony have been together.  He feels as helpless as he did before Erskine found him, unable to do more than watch from the sidelines, but he knows that he has to earn his way back. 

Now, when the team returns to the Tower, he meets them in the common area on the residential floor.  He hands out ice packs, Gatorade, and painkillers; he wipes away blood and carefully wraps the injuries that everyone but Bruce inevitably comes home with.

“Hitting things isn’t always the answer.  The guy had a blind spot.  All you had to do was stay in it,” he tells Thor as he presses gauze against a deep gash in his left shoulder.  He tries to be as gentle as possible, but his hands are shaking.  It’s the first time he’s been this close to Thor since the day in the glass cell.  “Hold still.”

Thor gives him a strange look.  “My wound is not serious.”

Steve presses his lips together and doesn’t respond.  He knows it isn’t serious.  For Thor, it’s hardly more than a paper cut.  But this is the only way Steve can be useful and they all know that.

“Do I get one of the books with your pictures as well?” Thor asks.  The room goes suddenly quiet, all eyes on Steve.  “Tony is most pleased with his.”

“Hey!” Tony protests, his cheeks coloring slightly.  “You weren’t supposed to tell him.”

“I have one for you, yes.”  Steve stretches medical tape over the gauze on Thor’s shoulder, holding it in place.  “If you want it.”

“What about mine?” Clint fidgets with the ice pack on his knee.  “Do you still have it?”

Steve turns and realizes that they’re all watching him, waiting.  “Okay, okay.  But try not to bleed on them.”  He hurries to his rooms and digs through the boxes of sketchbooks he’d brought from the helicarrier.  On an impulse, he grabs the one meant for Loki as well.  He gives Clint and Natasha their books first, before facing Thor.  “Here.  There’s one for you and one for Loki.  I don’t…I don’t think I’ll ever see him again, but maybe you will.”  There’s a sad smile on Thor’s lips as he accepts the books.

He busies himself with cleaning up the bloodied bandages and gauze.  The room is silent as the others look through the sketchbooks.  He tries not to worry what they think of his work.

“Do you know how he came to have wings?” Thor asks without looking up.  “He must have hid them from me when I saw him.”

“He never told me how.”  Steve wishes that he’d asked.  “He didn’t…he doesn’t like them.  He’s ashamed of them; that’s why he hides them.”

“They are beautiful,” Thor says quietly. 

“I tried to tell him how beautiful he is.”  Steve can’t help smiling a little.  “The way the light catches on his feathers.  The way they move, how soft they are.  How graceful he is when he dances.  I wish you all could’ve seen him dance.”  He stops when he realizes that everyone is staring at him again and bows his head; talking about Loki is hardly going to help his suspension from SHIELD.

“Oh,” Natasha says when she reaches the last page of her book.  She touches it gently, as though afraid it will crumble in her hands.  When she looks up, her eyes are wide and a little too bright. 

“Show.”  Tony waves at her.  “Come on, you’ve seen mine.  It’s only fair.”

Natasha pulls the sketchbook against her chest.  “I will hurt you.”

“Steve, Natasha’s not letting me see her sketchbook,” Tony says with a mock whine.

Steve rolls his eyes.  “Play nice.” 

Thor spends several minutes staring at the final page in his book.  The others have finished going through theirs; Natasha is still refusing to let anyone get so much as a peek inside hers but Clint is happy enough to share.  Thor finally opens the book meant for Loki.  When he finishes, he stands up and starts toward the door.  He nods as he passes Steve but says nothing. 

When everyone is taken care of and the common area is tidied, Steve retreats to his room.  He settles down in bed with a sketchbook and a pencil.  The painful knot in his chest has returned, making him restless and uneasy.

He’s come a long way; he knows that he has.  But, at night, it seems like he still has a long way to go.

**

Loki feels someone approach and stiffens.

The presence stills and then begins to retreat, fading away from his senses.  An animal, perhaps.

He stays still, holding his breath.  He is hundreds of miles from the nearest human settlement and does not venture near them unless he has no other option.  When there is further no sound or movement, he cautiously moves toward the door of the small mountain cabin.  The door opens with a groan, revealing nothing but snow and mountain peaks.  Frowning, he leans out and looks around, but he can see no sign of anyone.  As he starts to close the door, he sees a small cardboard box on the ground. 

He picks up the box gingerly, still watching his surroundings for any sign of a trick, and carries it inside.  He bolts the door behind him.

The cabin is small, but cozy.  He’d found it abandoned and had given it new life.  It was a simple life.  Curious, he settles the box on the floor in front of the fireplace, the only source of heat and light the cabin has. He sits cross legged, staring at the box, until he has thoroughly considered the implications of the knowledge that someone has found him.  Finally, he reaches out and lifts the lid away.

Inside, he finds a small collection of books.  They were his, he realizes, when he’d lived in New York.  He pulls out the book of Shakespeare’s plays and several books of poetry.  He’d fled New York with nothing but the clothes on his back, unable to return to the warehouse once SHIELD had discovered it.  At the bottom of the box, beneath his favorite books, is a bound sketchbook with his name on it. 

He doesn’t open the sketchbook for a long time.  He stares at it; stares at his name written in careful letters.  When he finally reaches for the bottom corner, his fingers shake.

The first page is an image of him with his wings wrapped tight around Captain America as Crossbones’ bullets ricochet around them.  He can see Steve’s hand in the drawings, recognizes the neat lines and careful attention to detail.  He stops, heart in his throat, at the first sketch of him and Steve in bed together.  He is smiling; Steve is laughing at something.  He knows this never happened; it’s an image drawn from Steve’s imagination. 

Page after page, he sees images of what had never been.

Walking together in Central Park, eating ice cream cones, lying side by side in front of the fireplace he used to have.  There is a sketch of them sitting on a beach and another of them watching a sunset.  Images of them kissing, holding hands; there is a tenderness in the drawings that had never been real. 

On the very last page are two words.

_Forgive me._

Beneath the words is a note card taped to the page.  It’s a date, a time, and an address; the date is several weeks away.  The handwriting is not Steve’s.

He sits beside the fire, going through the sketches over and over again as he tries to decide what it means.

**

Steve sweeps the last of the crumbled brick into the wide shovel.  “That’s it for this street.” 

The shovel is too heavy for anyone else to lift, so he hands off the push broom to a SHIELD agent.  He ignores the calls from reporters who have nothing better to do than watch him clean up after the Avengers.  Someone, maybe one of the kids who seem to hang around, throws a soda can that hits Steve squarely in the back.  He doesn’t let it bother him; he has better things to do.  He knows what the press is saying about him; he’s heard all of the whispers and rumors, but he knows they don’t matter.  What’s important is that he’s doing what he can. 

For him, it’s enough to know the others are already back at Stark Tower, cleaned up, bandaged, and safe. 

Eventually the reporters get bored watching him clean up debris and they leave.  When he’s finished, he’s surprised to see Thor standing just beyond the SHIELD barricades.  He’s wearing plain clothes and a ball cap, although it doesn’t do much to help him blend in.

Thor holds out one of the cups he’s carrying.  “I brought you coffee.” 

“Thanks.”  Steve takes the cup, wondering why on earth Thor is bringing him coffee.  Or walking around New York in street clothes.

“I have set you on a date.”  Thor gives him a broad smile, clearly pleased with himself.  “Tony made a reservation at an eating establishment of impeccable repute.  He informed me that it is custom in this Realm to bring flowers.”

He doesn’t know if he should laugh or not.  “Thor…I appreciate this, really, but I’m okay.”

“Roses, I believe, are acceptable.”

Steve can tell that Thor isn’t going to listen.  “Did Tony put you up to this?”

“It was an idea of my own devising.”

Shaking his head, Steve starts toward Stark Tower.  It’s been eight months since he last saw Loki, since anyone has seen Loki.  He knows SHIELD has been monitoring every known location where Loki has ever been seen.  They’ve even searched Freetown more than once, which nearly destroyed all the good will that Steve had managed to build with the mutant community.

A blind date is the last thing he wants.

But he doesn’t refuse when Thor hands him a note card with an address, a date, and a time.  It’s the upcoming Thursday at seven o’clock.  Thor refuses to tell him anything about his potential date other than it’s a man.

When Thursday arrives, he doesn’t refuse when Pepper offers to help him pick out a suit and gives him a recommendation for a florist.  He chooses white roses on a whim, a dozen of them, and has them tied with a dark green ribbon.  After he’s showered, dressed, and spent far too long trying to get his hair to cooperate, he takes a deep breath and picks up the flower box.

The others – all of them – are sitting in the common area pretending to be busy.

“Guys.  Really.”  He shakes his head.  “Don’t wait up.”

“Don’t break out the whips and knives on the first date,” Clint throws back.  Natasha hits the back of his head with a magazine.

Steve feels his face heat with embarrassment.  He tries not to think about Loki on the walk to the restaurant.  It’s a nice place, far nicer than anything he would’ve picked, and even in the suit, he feels underdressed.  He’s early, but the maitre d’ smiles graciously and leads him to a secluded table on an upper terrace.   There are taper candles burning on the table and fresh flowers floating in a glass bowl.

Self-conscious, he sets the flower box on one side of the table and takes a seat.  He asks for the wine list and finds a label that he’s familiar with; it had been Loki’s favorite.  The night sky is clear and he’s surprised at how peaceful it is, even though he’s in the heart of the city.

He tries not to check his phone every five seconds.

The maitre d’s voice wafts through the open doorway leading to the terrace.  “Through here, sir.”

Steve stands up, his stomach full of butterflies and his hands shaking.  He resists the urge to comb his fingers through his hair.  He stops breathing completely when Loki steps through the doorway.

His hair is long and pulled back into a loose braid.  He’s wearing a black suit, almost blending into the shadows, with no tie.  He doesn’t seem surprised to see Steve.  The maitre d’ ushers him to the table and pours the wine.  Loki settles onto the bench, reaching for his wine glass.  As it reaches his lips, he looks up and Steve sees a flash of surprise in his eyes.

“You remembered,” Loki says smoothly after he’s taken his first sip.

Steve sits down hard.  His legs are shaking too much to do anything else.  He feels sick and terrified; his tongue is stuck fast to the roof of his mouth and he doesn’t think he’ll be able to speak at all.  Desperate to not appear like a complete idiot, he touches the flower box lightly and clears his throat.  “These…these are for you.” 

Now he wishes he’d picked anything other than white roses.

One perfectly arched eyebrow rises.  Loki sets his wine glass down to open the box.  He frowns as he pulls the roses out, touching their petals as though they’d been spun from glass.  “You brought me flowers.  How unnecessary.”

“It was Thor’s idea.”  Steve cringes, instantly realizing he shouldn’t have said anything.  But it was too late now.  “This was all Thor’s idea actually.  Not that I’m not…I mean, I am…I wanted to, but I didn’t know how.”

Loki settles the flowers back into the box and reaches for his wine glass.  “You have never been able to put your emotions into words.”

Face burning, Steve reaches for his glass of wine.  The sharp look that Loki gives him makes him freeze.  He picks up the glass of water instead.  Somehow, wine is too familiar, too much a reminder of their past.

“What do you want?” Loki asks flatly.

 _To crawl into a hole and never come out again_ , Steve thinks.  He swallows down almost half of the glass of water and his hand visibly shakes when he sets it down.  “Are you…are you okay?  Where did you go?  I mean, you don’t have to tell me, I just.”  He stops again, humiliated.  If Thor had told him the truth, he might have been prepared.

Loki sighs.  “Perhaps you would prefer to skip the bothersome conversation and go straight to fucking.”

“No!” Steve says, too loudly.  “Loki, please.  This isn’t easy for me.”

Eyes narrowing, Loki watches him for a moment before he sets down the wine glass to pick up the menu.

“Loki,” Steve tries again.  He stops when a waiter approaches, asking them if they’re ready to order.  He’s surprised when Loki responds in fluent Italian and proceeds to order for both of them.  The waiter whisks their menus away.

“You will enjoy it,” Loki informs him.

“I’m sure I will.”  He searches for the smallest sign, anything, that Loki is as nervous as he is.  As he does, he realizes that he can’t see Loki’s wings.  “Are you…what happened to your wings?”

Loki’s glare is icy.  “You always were obsessed with them.  They are merely hidden.  I would hate to startle the restaurant patrons.”

“We’re alone,” Steve says quietly.  “You don’t have to pretend that you…that they’re not there.” 

Loki doesn’t respond and there’s a glint of malice in his eyes, as though hiding his wings from Steve is meant to be a punishment.

They sit in silence until their meals arrive.

Steve’s mouth waters at the smell and he knows before he takes the first bite that it will be delicious.  He watches Loki eat, noting how carefully he uses his knife and fork.  When Loki catches him watching, he deliberately raises his knife and slowly licks away the thick cheese sauce.  It’s startling and provocative.  Face burning, Steve bends his head and tries to focus on his food.  His mind is racing, filling with memories and images of Loki.  All he can think about is the feel of Loki’s skin and how his back would arch, wings opening up behind him.  He rubs at his temple and reaches for his water again.

Loki chuckles mirthlessly.  “You haven’t found anyone else who can hurt you the way I can.  Have you, _Captain_?”

 He drains the water glass and sets it down before he looks up again.  “SHIELD put me on suicide watch.  I spent three months inside Hulk’s cell, like a goldfish in a bowl.  I take anti-depressants and anti-anxiety medication.  I see five different therapists and I go to a support group for military veterans with post traumatic stress disorder.”  Loki’s face is devoid of any sign of understanding or any emotion at all.  “I’m not proud of where I am, but I’m not ashamed either.  What we had…it was wrong.  It should never have happened.”

Loki stares at him.  “And SHIELD?”

“They know it was consensual.  That you didn’t do anything against my will.  They’re not going to come after you because of me.”

“And this?”  Loki waves to the flowers and the restaurant.  “What is this?”

Steve can’t blame Thor for trying.  “Thor loves you.”

With a bitter laugh, Loki swirls his wine.  “So it was my brother who found me and brought me your foolish sketches.”

His stomach sinks.  Thor had given Loki the sketchbook.  He looks down, but the food in front of him is no longer appetizing.  Of course, he should’ve known that Loki would think they were foolish.  His chest is tight and he can feel the sharp pain beginning to writhe inside of him.  He’d had a chance at something but he’d been too blind to see it and he’d blown it; he hadn’t realized how much he wanted a second chance until now.

He tries to take deep breaths, tries to remember everything the therapists had told him and everything the men in the support group had said would help him.  Put one foot in front of the other.  Then another.

That’s all he has to do to get through this.

“I’m sorry for what happened between us,” he says, head still bowed.  “It’s my fault; I take full responsibility.  Please don’t blame Thor for trying to help.”

When Loki finally speaks, his voice is cold.  “How fortunate for you that SHIELD has shown you the error of your ways.  Shown you how wrong, how reprehensible your dalliance with me was.  I’m sure you’re an object lesson for all the young heroes.  Don’t be like Captain America, children.”

Steve looks away, nauseated.  He can accept that Loki doesn’t love him, but he never expected Loki to hate him.

Loki continues, his voice dripping with venom.  “Do you talk about us with these therapists?  Do you tell them what I did to you?  Have you told them how you begged me to fuck you as I bled you like an animal?  You may play the shining hero by day, but I _know_ the darkness inside you.”

Steve pushes away from the table; he can’t listen anymore. 

He runs from the terrace and out of the restaurant.  He doesn’t stop running until he reaches Stark Tower and then he takes the stairs three at a time.  He crashes through the door, not seeing where he’s going, simply desperate to get away.

“Steve?” Natasha calls after him.  “What happened?”

Wood splinters and the door to his suite snaps off of its hinges when he tries to open it.  He can’t breathe.  His fingers fumble with the tie, unable to get it loose.  He can’t breathe.

“Steve!”  Natasha is there.

“Can’t…can’t breathe,” Steve gasps, pulling at his jacket until the fabric rips. 

“He’s having a panic attack.  Get Bruce, NOW!”  Natasha reaches him first and she cuts his tie loose with a knife.  “You’re going to be okay, Steve.” 

Buttons pop free as he wrenches at his collar, trying to get it away from his neck.  His vision is starting to tunnel; he still can’t breathe and it feels as though his heart is going to explode. 

Natasha catches him as he stumbles and falls.  “It’s going to be okay, I’ve got you, I’ve got you.”

**

Loki finishes his meal and the bottle of wine.  He takes the roses with him on a whim, holding them loosely as he walks away from the restaurant.  It must be a ruse, of course.  No doubt Steve was merely bait for SHIELD’s trap.

He continues walking, waiting for the inevitable ambush, but it never comes.

By the time dawn arrives, he’s found his way to the old warehouse where he used to live.  It’s empty of all but rats now.  He stands in the empty space, watching the sun climb into the sky through broken glass.  Dropping the veil over his wings, he stretches them out wide to loosen the muscles in his back.  He takes a seat in the center of the open space, remembering how it had been before.

Could he have been wrong? 

The possibility is unsettling, however unlikely.  He thinks about Steve’s words as he cradles the bundle of roses in his lap.  They’ve already begun to fade.

Everything he touches wilts and dies.

He resists the urge to tear the roses apart and leave their pieces scattered over the floor.  Thorns cut into his fingers but he ignores the pain.  He’d known all along that once SHIELD discovered Steve’s dark secret and intervened, Steve would never again be able to look at him without revulsion.  Once he realized how _unworthy_ Loki was.

“LOKI!” Thor’s bellow rattles the windows and nearly shakes the ground.

Loki has a moment to roll to his side and onto his feet before Mjolnir crashes through the nearest wall and Thor barrels through the shower of collapsing brick.  Loki pulls his wings back; they’re razor sharp now. 

“Do not try to run, brother,” Thor says sharply.  “No more running, no more hiding.  Enough of this madness.”

“Come to beat sanity into me?”  Loki takes another step, drawing Thor deeper into the warehouse. 

Thor shifts his grip on Mjolnir, eying Loki cautiously.  “Why hide your wings from me?”

“Because I knew you would mock me for them.”  Loki scowls.  “A Frost Giant cast out of Asgard, no home, no family.  That wasn’t enough, was it?  I wasn’t enough of a monster before.  Whether they are Fate or the Allfather’s hatred, now I am a _creature._   Disfigured, deformed.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Loki.  They are only wings.”

Loki gapes at him for a moment and wonders if Thor has taken leave of his senses.

“How long have you had them?” Thor persists.

Taken back by the question, Loki straightens a little.  “Since my imprisonment in Asgard.”

“And you did not think to tell me?”  Thor sounds wounded. 

“Did you seek me out just to gawk at them?” Loki fumes.  He makes several sharp strokes, kicking up the dust at their feet with each beat of his wings. 

“That is not why I’m here.  It is your relationship with Captain Rogers.”

Loki winces at the sympathy in Thor’s voice.  “You should not have interfered.”

“The picture book I brought you.”

Loki turns away sharply; Thor may as well have brought him a book of everything he will never be able to have.  Realizing that he is still clutching the dozen roses, he tosses them aside.  “You think me a monster, I remember that quite clearly.”

“What you did was wrong.”

“He wanted it!” Loki howls at him; he’s angry and sick over how far he’d let it go.  How foolish, how blind he’d been.  “Do you think I took pleasure in it?  In causing him pain?  You think that I did not try to show him that it…that we could’ve…but it didn’t matter.  He came to me, night after night, because I gave him what he needed, what he craved.”

“He was not well.”

Strangled laughter bubbles up in Loki’s throat.  “Of course.  A momentary lapse.  Temporary insanity.  The good Captain would never truly lower himself so far as to be with me,” he swallows down the rest of his words and turns away.  “I want nothing to do with him or you.  I want to be left alone.”

“You are my brother, Loki,” Thor says simply, earnestly.  “Please do not hide yourself away.”

“Clearly, you can still find me.”  Kicking at a stone, Loki wishes he’d never come to Midgard.  “Heimdall?”

“He has helped me look for you.”

“What does Asgard care where I go so long as I do not return?  Frigga is dead.”  He stops when the toe of his boot brushes up against a crumpled white rose.  The green ribbon that had bound them is loose and caught against a rock, one end fluttering.  He stares at it sightlessly; Steve had brought him white roses. 

White roses meant hope and new beginnings.  It seems even stranger now that they’re lying in the dust of the old warehouse.  Sweet, eager to please Steve who could no more tell Loki what he wanted than he could fly.  He glances back at the now empty platform where his bed had been and aches at the memory of lying beside Steve, listening to his heart beat and feeling the rise and fall of his breath.  He’d been willing to do anything to keep Steve there, keep him coming back night after night, even when he’d known something wasn’t right. 

“I know you care for him.”

“You know nothing,” Loki says bitterly, turning away.  “Only a monster would have done such things.  I know what I am; it is you who is willfully blind.”

“I told you once that wherever you go, I will follow.”  There is a strange tenderness in Thor’s voice.  “And I will never give up on you, Loki.  Give yourself a chance to be happy, brother.  And to love.”

“He did not even know I would be there,” Loki says accusingly.

“I was not certain you would come at all.”  Thor steps forward, his hand out.  “You have ever pushed me away.  This time _stay_.  That is all I want.”

“You are a fool.”

“Mortal lives are short, brother.  So very short.  They are but the blink of an eye for us.  Every moment is precious.  Do not let a single one slip through your fingers because of your pride.”

Loki turns his face away.  “Is that what you told the Allfather when you refused the throne?”

“Do you believe Mother would not have wanted us both to know love?” Thor counters.

His retort dies before he can speak.  Slowly, he kneels down to gather the white roses.  Many of the stems are broken.  He catches up the green ribbon and binds them carefully together.  They will not last the day, but he cannot bring himself to leave them behind.  “Go back to your mortal woman and your Avengers.”

“Loki.” Thor stops and sighs.  “Should you need me, I will be here.”

“I will not need you.”

The warehouse feels desolate when Thor leaves.

Loki clutches the roses and tries to swallow down _everything_.  That’s all he’s done since he came here.  Hide and push down and bury and deny and try to forget and try not to _feel._ He’d let the nothingness, the void, swallow him down and erase everything he’d been; as though it could erase his mistakes and his shame as easily as it swept his name into the shadows.  He’d accepted that he would never know anything else.

Pain shoots through his fingers as thorns dig into his skin.

“This is madness,” he whispers to himself and the empty space around him.  He is tired of hiding in shadows.

Perhaps, just perhaps, there is no harm in staying.

He has a moment’s warning – the hair on his arms rising as electricity gathers in still air – before a bolt of lightning hits him squarely in the chest and then the world is lost to him.


End file.
